I Pickpocket Him When He's Annoying
by Moose Juice
Summary: Sirius Black and Sherlock Holmes are the most mismatched couple ever, routinely bringing out the worst in each other. But what happens when quiet, gentle and reserved Remus Lupin comes onto the scene... with his boyfriend John Watson? AU. Eventual slash.


_**Hello. So I was busy doing nothing and thinking about Sherlock. Then I started thinking about the Sirius/Remus Harry Potter fanfiction I'm writing and how I should probably do some more. And then I thought about writing a Sirius/Sherlock/Remus/John crossover fic, though it's undoubtedly already been done. So here is chapter one – this is kind of an experiment, my 'pilot' if you like, so please review and if you like it I'll write a bit more and if you don't I won't. Or I'll write a bit more anyway, just to annoy you. And yes, it will probably end up being slash, so if male/male isn't your thing, you have been warned. :)**_

_**Another thing – it might not get updated for a while, seeing as I have exams/current fics to finish, but still. Let me know what you think. Here's 'I Pickpocket Him When He's Annoying.'**_

_**Rated M for strong language and (eventual) slash.**_

_**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything, obviously. Even Benedict Cumberbatch. Unfortunately. (Wish I did though.)**_

**I Pickpocket Him When He's Annoying**

**ONE**

'For god's sake, Sherlock, can't you just take one day off a week? I mean, it's not like it's your _job_,' Sirius Black said, rolling his eyes as he lounged gracefully on the sofa of 221b Baker Street. 'It's not even like you _have _a job,' he added irritably. 'How do you afford the rent for this place?'

'Mrs. Hudson lowers it specially for me since I saved her husband from being convicted of murder last year,' Sherlock Holmes replied stiffly, looking up from the skull he was holding to regard his boyfriend somewhat peevishly. His grey eyes flickered from Sirius's boyishly-handsome face to his elegant body, draped lazily across the sofa with an almost arrogant air. Typical Sirius – he could walk into a completely unfamiliar room and own it in an instant. Sherlock could never wish to have as much as half of Sirius's haughty, confident manner. He was an incorrigible flirt too, something that irritated Sherlock immensely, though of course he would never give Sirius the satisfaction of knowing that. He never knew quite where he was with Sirius on an emotional level, as though he was forever one step behind.

'So Mrs. Hudson lowers the rent for you,' Sirius drawled. 'What about when you want to move out of here and get a decent place?' He didn't ask how Sherlock could afford food – two years in a relationship with the detective had taught him that Sherlock hardly ever ate, especially when on a case. Solving crime was his ultimate obsession, and thoughts about trivial matters such as nutritional sustenance and working on an increasingly failing relationship didn't seem to enter his head. Sirius often felt jealous of Sherlock's fanatical fixation for whatever case he was currently on, not to mention his mind-boggling intellect. He didn't know what it was that had attracted him to Sherlock – perhaps it was the fact that he'd successfully unnerved and intrigued him at the same time, after Sirius had walked confidently up to him in a bar and tried to flirt. Of course, Sherlock had not responded to this at all, leaving Sirius feeling decidedly wrong-footed. From then on, his golden rule was: Never flirt with a sociopath. Sherlock had then proceeded to tell Sirius his own life story after taking one fleeting look at him. He seemed to notice tiny details nobody else would even think to spot. Sirius could never quite keep up with Sherlock on an intellectual level; it was as though he was forever one step behind.

'What's wrong with here?' Sherlock enquired, raising a dark eyebrow. Sirius looked at him in disbelief, his dark, shiny hair tumbling and bouncing across his shoulders as he shook his head.

'You want to _stay_ here? In a dump like this?' he sneered. 'God, Sherlock. I thought you had taste.'

'You mean you thought velvet sofas, Persian rugs and general extravagance appealed to me. You must be getting us mixed up,' Sherlock muttered, studying his skull. Sirius glared at it.

'Why do you keep that thing, anyway? It's really creepy.'

'It's my skull,' Sherlock replied with a pout. 'It helps me think.'

'I found a head in the fridge yesterday.'

'Well where else was I supposed to put it?'

'For god's sake, Sherlock,' Sirius repeated.

'Please, Sirius, I'm trying to think,' Sherlock murmured.

'You're always bloody thinking!' Sirius shouted, sitting up angrily, throwing his hands up in exasperation. 'Why can't we just _talk _for once? Why do you have to be so bloody anti-social?'

'Invariably, Sirius, you don't want to talk,' Sherlock countered. 'You seem to think that procreating in a manner akin to small, furry mammals with large ears is far more important than intellectual stimulation.'

Sirius glared at him.

'In English please?'

Sherlock grinned slyly, glancing sideways at Sirius. 'In more simple terms, you, Sirius Black, are a horny bastard.'

'Yeah?' Sirius retorted, raising his eyebrows, the flicker of a smile on his handsome face.

'Yeah.'

'Well, you know what, _Detective Holmes?_'

Sherlock failed to conceal a satisfied smile. He'd long given up trying to pretend that he didn't relish it when Sirius called him 'Detective Holmes'. 'What?'

'So. Are. You. You want me bad, Holmes, you know you do,' Sirius said, softly. Dangerously. He leaped off the sofa and made his gloriously alluring way over to Sherlock's armchair before leaping on top of him and straddling him. Sherlock dropped the skull in surprise and blinked at Sirius.

'You know you want me, Detective,' Sirius murmured in a low voice, his face inches from Sherlock's. 'I can tell. You want me soooooo bad…'

'Do I hell, you dirty bastard,' Sherlock lied. Despite being a brilliant liar, his raging hard-on gave him away, so to speak. Sirius had him in his total control, and there was nothing he could do about it.

'Oh yeah? Your dick doesn't seem to think the same as your mouth.'

'How can either of those parts of my anatomy _think_, Sirius? Clearly all three of you have the same number of brain cells.'

Sirius kissed him, merely to shut him up – on the one hand, Sherlock's pedantry and technicality irritated the hell out of him; on the other hand, it somehow turned him on. A lot. For some weird reason.

Sherlock kissed back willingly – though, admittedly, he wasn't anywhere near as experienced in the romance department as Sirius was (who was fondly referred to by his friends as 'Baker Street's Only Manwhore'), he'd been getting a lot better at this physical affection lark over the past couple of years. Sirius seemed to want to rule him completely, but at times like this he didn't give a damn. Times like this reminded Sherlock of why he and Sirius were still together – because the sex was just so damn hot.

'Shall we move this to the bedroom?' Sirius muttered huskily against his boyfriend's lips. Despite the weird aversion Sherlock seemed to have towards any form of socialising with relatively normal people, he was a damn good kisser. When those soft, cool lips were pressed against his, Sirius was able to forgive the detective anything at all – even the times when he forgot to call and ask Sirius to come over, or when Sirius called and Sherlock forgot to go over to his, or when Sirius found heads in the fridge or eyeballs in the microwave, or, like today, when Sherlock refused to take a break from his 'hobby' to talk about their deteriorating relationship – when they were kissing and touching and Sirius could feel Sherlock's gorgeous erection straining through his jeans and knew it was for him, they made a seriously good team.

Unfortunately, that was the only time they ever really made a good team. It had become slowly clearer to him over the past couple of months – that he and Sherlock Holmes were the most mismatched couple ever.


End file.
